The Letter
by KristieConspiracy
Summary: Fred never knew how to tell Hermione how he felt. By the time he worked up the nerve, she was gone. He didn't know he'd never see her again. Neither did she. Written for the Fanfiction Scavenger Hunt on HPFC.


**Challenge: **Cheeky Slytherin Lass's _Fanfiction Scavenger Hunt Competition_ on HPFC; SunlighHurtsMyEyes' _The Fault In Our Stars Competition_ on HPFC.

**Characters: **Fred Weasley, Hermione Granger

**Prompt: **45. A letter!fic; Hazel #5: _I want more days than I'm likely to get, and god, did I want more for (insert name here) than he got._

**Word count: **793

**A/N: **I thought you could do strikethroughs on this, but evidently, I was wrong. Oops. So, for future reference, where I _italicise and underline_ it's a parody of a strikethrough.

* * *

Dear Hermione,

I don't like writing letters. I never did. Except it's starting to look like I might not be able to do this any other way, so I'm just going to write, because you like to read. And reading goes hand in hand with writing. No questions asked. And such.

Merlin, I must sound like a right tosser, right? But I've already started a hundred different letters and now I've only got the one bit of parchment left. I couldn't work out how to start, so at the top there's a mess of scribbling. I really hope you can't read that. Not until you get to the end, at least. By then I'll probably have written what it says up top, anyway.

Did I ever apologise for the punching telescope last year? I should have. I was just so caught up in the store, I couldn't really focus on you. Not that I tried, but I did regret it later. I still regret it. So I'm sorry that our stupid pranks hurt you; you never deserved that; though the way you behaved as a prefect in our last year, you'd think you'd expected it all along. I guess, in a way, you did, huh?

But anyway, I felt like a right git when I saw the bruise. Thank Merlin the bruise-removal paste worked. I know you'll kill me if one of mine and George's products mess with your ability to read, so call me relieved.

So, I know you're Ron's friend. I know mum's dead-set on the idea that you and him are going to be perfect for each other, after all this blows over. But I also know you were miserable over Christmas last year - why else wouldn't you come to the Burrow? I know you enjoy spending time with us, and I know your parents were going skiing again, and you hated that sort of thing. I know why you didn't come - I know what my idiot brother did.

Well, Hermione, if I ever see you again, I'm going to take you on a holiday that you actually _want_ to go on. Maybe the Vatican Library or Library of Alexandria, since you'd probably love to see those collections. I know Bill's been to the one in Egypt, and I think Percy probably went to the Vatican one at some point - Godric knows why, I just guess he did, being the pompous twat he is. I wonder when I got the idea what I always know where people are; it's not like you have a hand on the family clock (mum and dad moved back home, did you know? They finally felt it was safe. It's already been four months since the wedding, so I'm glad they could. It was doing mum's head in, not being there - and I've been there, too, with George, as much as we can be).

I don't know where you are right now, actually. I wish I did. There's this horrid worry deep in my chest, way down in my gut, and it's eating me up. I wish I could know you were still alive. I mean, I'm sure you are - you'd never just _die_, not without someone making a big deal of it - and since Harry hasn't been declared dead, well, you must be alive. You _have_ to be.

Don't die on me, Hermione. Not before I get to tell you about how you make me feel. About how I don't even feel like life is worth it when you aren't around, unless the effort is going to be one of those 'all roads lead to' things, in this case, all roads lead to you. Or at least they better. I don't even know when I fell in love with you, Hermione Granger, but don't you dare die before I get to tell you.

_Yours sincerely_  
_Yours lovingly_  
_I miss you_  
_Please come back_  
Always yours,  
Fred

* * *

Dear Fred,

Maybe I'm not allowed to die on you, but you were never allowed to die on me. Please come back. Please. George is heartbroken, your mum is miserable, even Percy misses you terribly. You can't just die and then leave something like this for me to find when I help George sort through the things you left at the Burrow.

Please come back, Fred. I never got to tell you that I _love you, too__care about you__hate being without you_ don't want to wake up in the morning and have to remember that I'm never going to see you again. I want more days than I'm likely to get, and Merlin, do I want more for you than you got.

Oh, I wish you were here.

Love from,

Hermione


End file.
